


Going In The Same Direction

by PanBoleyn



Series: These Twists And Turns Of Fate [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One different argument, changes everything. No one gets shot, no one leaves in Cuba, but Charles and Erik still have to find some kind of compromise or it will fall apart anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going In The Same Direction

**Author's Note:**

> And here, ladies and gents, is where this 'verse becomes AU and stays there. *salutes*

_But I'm not ever gonna know_

_If I'm right or wrong_

_'Cause we're all going in the same direction_

_And I'm not sure which way to go_

_Because all along_

_We've been going in the same direction_

_Going in the same direction, yeah..._ –  Same Direction, Hoobastank

 

“There are thousands of men on those ships! Good, honest, innocent men! They're...”

 

Charles would find some kind of argument, if he had time. Something about why it's not the men's faults, whatever they've been told. But all he can think of is that they're just following orders, and somehow he knows that's not going to work.

 

There's a shred of a memory, a newspaper article about the aftermath of World War Two, about the Nazi guards at the concentration camps who claimed to be just following orders. And Charles knows if he says those words, all he'll do is make the situation that much worse. But he doesn't have much time to come up with something else.

 

“Erik, no! They don't know we're on their side!” It's not a good reason, but maybe it's a little better.

 

“Even if they knew, they would still attack us. They're being told to, and like good little soldiers they'll do as they're told,” Erik says, his voice harsh and mocking, and Charles thinks that not using the orders argument is possibly the smartest decision he's made all day.

 

“But if you kill them now, before they've had a chance to make an informed choice, if you start with them and continue with the idea that all humans are the enemy and they have to be fought and defeated, then how is that different than what you think they would do to us? It's the exact same philosophy, Erik, it's a mindset you hate and yet you're slipping into a form of it yourself. Can't you _see_ that?” Charles' voice cracks as he finishes speaking, because he needs his friend to see what he's doing, to see that this isn't the way. Even if Erik is right in the end and humanity never accepts mutants, making the first move of aggression will only _ensure_ that mistrust.

 

That is the practical reason. But in truth, Charles could survive seeing that happen. He would hate it, but it wouldn't hurt as much as seeing his best friend consumed by his own darkness. Not when he knows the sort of man Erik could be, if he would allow himself. Charles wants to make Erik see that he _can_ allow that, that fighting isn't the only option even if true peace turns out not to be either.

 

Erik is staring at him, the missiles still held in midair. And all Charles can do is wait and hope to God that he's gotten through.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Charles' words echo in Erik's head, and if he wasn't wearing Shaw's helmet he might suspect telepathic tricks.

 

“...you're slipping into a form of it yourself.” To be accused of that, by _Charles_ of all people, by the one person who seemed to understand him, by a man he... No. Not now. He isn't going to think about that now.

 

But it hurts. It hurts like hell, because _no_. No, he is not like them. They destroyed his family, everyone he knew, he is not like that. It's the humans who are, and he just wants to stop them before it happens again. It's not the same.

 

“How dare you accuse me of that?” he demands, his voice soft and all the more furious for it. “You claim you know everything about me, but you come up with something like that? I'm nothing like them, it's the humans who want to destroy us that are like them. You don't know what you're talking about, Charles.”

 

“Because it's true.” Charles doesn't react to the venom in Erik's voice, just looks at him with an infuriatingly steady gaze. “Killing all the humans just because you think they're the entire problem, and their deaths are a perfect solution? Erik, that's genocide. It's exactly what you survived.”

 

Erik almost punches him, actually clenches his fist and raises it. But then he can't do it, he can't look away from Charles, from the expression in his blue eyes. Because he can't seem to think at all. Charles' words are playing in his head against a backdrop of rain and mud and twisted gates, his own childhood screams tearing through it all. No. No, that can't be true.

 

_Shaw, laughing as Erik tears his office and the “examination room” beside it apart, killing the guards as their helmets crush like paper._

 

_Different guards, without helmets and no metal on their clothes, a punishment for failing once again, being beaten until he can't move._

 

_Aging men in Argentina, so far from the terrors they'd once been, pleading for their lives, saying that they were just following orders._

 

_No. No._

 

He isn't them, he's not like them. He can't be, they're everything he hates, everything he cannot stand. But...

 

He wants the humans gone, just vanished, because then the mutants can rise, as the better men that they are. And, if Erik lets himself think too hard, too carefully on that... It sounds like Nazi propaganda. He can't... can't tell himself it's not the same thing.

 

“Erik.” Charles speaks softly now, done with the passion and the arguments. “Don't let what Shaw and the others did to you make you like them. Don't let them have that victory over you. _Please_.”

 

He isn't like them, is he? No, he can't be, Charles is just trying to confuse him, and yet... It's the same kind of worldview, isn't it?

 

“I agree with you,” he'd told Shaw. Shaw, the man he had despised for years. He'd agreed with him, and only now does the horror of that hit him.

 

All he wants to do is help his fellow mutants, to protect them from the fate he so narrowly escaped, to be murdered for being different than those in power. But does he want to be what he hated in order to do that? Can he _really_ help if he did? Or will he just give the humans an excuse to call mutants dangerous?

 

Erik has a choice to make, and he knows he's only got one chance to make it. The missiles are floating in the air, waiting, and he could do anything with them. Anything. But he can't, he won't, be that which he hates most.

 

Slowly, he reaches up with one hand and takes the helmet off, letting Charles in, letting his friend see what he's thinking. And he turns the missiles, sends them flying toward the boats. He hears Charles cry out, “No, Moira, wait!” but doesn't know why, all his focus on the missiles, which stop dead several yards from the ships and explode in midair.

 

He isn't going to be like Shaw, but he still wants to make things clear. If the humans want a fight, they'll get one. Erik just won't give them an excuse.

 

“What the hell was that?” Moira snaps, furious, and Erik glances her way, smirking slightly.

 

“Just making a point. I could have let them go the rest of the way, you know.” Moira opens her mouth to retort, but Erik continues, “And you shouldn't be so angry; the superiors who told them to fire must have decided you weren't worth keeping alive either.”

 

“Don't you dare try to justify your own sadistic little games,” she snaps back, eyes flashing. He's struck a nerve, it seems.

 

“Erik, Moira, stop it,” Charles says sharply, scowling at them both. “Now is not the time.”

 

“Yeah, we need to get the hell out of here,” Raven chimes in.

 

“How exactly - ?” Sean begins, but he's cut off by the heavily accented voice of the red-skinned mutant, the teleporter.

 

“I will take you.”

 

“You will?” Angel and the other man stare at him as though he's lost his mind. Erik agrees, as it happens.

 

Charles, on the other hand, doesn't. He's been in Shaw's mind now, deep enough to know that the teleporter is Azazel, and the wind manipulator is Riptide. They both have other names, but they don't use them. And he knows that Azazel joined Shaw less because he believed in Shaw's dream than because of an honor debt. Shaw had helped him save a family member, and even though Azazel probably knew it had been deliberate, he still owed Shaw a life.

 

It's the same mindset which is leading to this offer, Charles knows that even before he lets his power brush feather-light against Azazel's mind and confirms it. Which is why he agrees so easily, despite the fact that except for himself and Azazel, everyone on both teams is _loudly_ thinking that this is a bad idea.

 

When the other “X-Men” hesitate, Azazel smirks. “I think your comrades are suspicious of me, he laughs. “Smart of them. After all, I could do as I wished with you, couldn't I?”

 

“But you won't,” Charles says with conviction.

 

“No. But I could.”  
  


And that's true. Still, it's better than being left behind to see if more missiles are coming their way, so eventually they all join hands and let Azazel teleport them out.

 

Charles doesn't trust Shaw's associates that much, however. As soon as they arrive, he wipes their memories of the mansion and of helping them at all, then gives Azazel a mental nudge to get himself, Riptide, and Angel out of there.

 

Charles turns to Erik. “Erik, I'd like...”

 

But Erik is already stalking off in the direction of the satellite dish. Charles sighs, but doesn't follow him. It can wait a few hours, and there's still Moira to deal with, something he'd rather not do even though today's events leave him with no real choice in the matter.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Erik leans against the base of the satellite, his hands feeling empty without the coin to toy with. He feels hollowed out, now that he's finally had his revenge. It's a relief to know that Shaw is dead, that he'll never be able to do to anyone else what he did to Erik, that Erik's mother has been avenged, and yet...

 

He'd thought he would be happier once it was over. Killing no longer particularly bothers him, but he's never enjoyed it. Erik had thought that Shaw might be an exception, but apparently not. He just feels numb, directionless.

 

Surely he's not so pathetic that he can't function without his need for revenge driving him.

 

But after a moment Erik realizes, that's just it. Revenge has been what's driven him this far, forced him to survive, because he needed to survive long enough to kill Shaw. After that, he had always thought his own life to be irrelevant. He didn't want to die, he just had no reason to particularly care one way or the other.

 

He could now, maybe. He knows that Charles wants him to stay; he'd made that clear back when they were still the guests of the CIA. But for all that Charles thinks he knows everything about Erik, even with his power it's just not possible. Erik's not sure he can stay here, not sure he can find it in himself to believe in Charles' dreams of peace. He's been taught in a hard school that the world isn't like that.

 

If he's honest, that's one reason he wants to stay. Charles, for all that he can slip into people's minds and know what they've been through, doesn't seem to understand how harsh the world can really be. Even with missiles flying toward him, he was still defending those who were trying to kill him. And the kids listen to him over anyone. That scares Erik to death. He can't help but think that such optimism will get them all killed, and he can't pretend that the thought of it doesn't bother him. Doesn't terrify him.

 

When it comes to Charles, he almost expects that. Charles has a maddening ability to get under Erik's skin, something Erik wishes he could believe was solely the result of Charles' power. It's not, he knows it's not, but he's not ready to know what it is. But it's not just Charles. It's Hank and Alex and Sean, and somehow especially Raven. She struggles with who she really is in a way Erik understands all too well. He might not be blue, but he knows what it's like to wish he were normal. Had he been normal, Shaw would have left him alone, would not have killed his mother. The camp might have killed them both anyway, but then again it might not have.

 

There were many nights, while under Shaw's control, that Erik had wished his power had never existed, for that very reason.

 

But he doesn't want to think of Shaw now. The real-life monster of his memories and nightmares is gone, and even if Erik doesn't feel the satisfaction or even the relief he'd expected, even if all there is is this blank numbness, it's better than what was there before. And he has more important things to worry about, so he walks back to the mansion.

 

Just in time to see Charles kiss Moira, something which makes him stop dead, frozen by some kind of strangling emotion he doesn't recognize or understand. But then Moira's knees buckle, and Erik realizes the kiss was a set-up for some kind of telepathic trick.

 

That shouldn't leave him feeling relieved, but he doesn't let himself wonder why it does.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Charles hadn't wanted to do it, not really. But as Moira falls and he moves to catch her, he can't find more than mild regret in himself. She's a good woman, and he knows she would never have betrayed them willingly – for all that Erik is convinced that all humans are the enemy, Charles knows that Moira, at least, is an ally or wants to be. It's just that she's a woman trying to make it in a man's world, it's just that those men are some of the world's best intelligence operatives. Somehow, using Moira's goals as their tools, they'd get what they wanted from her. She would never want it, might not even realize how it was done, but Charles knows that it's very likely to happen if he doesn't ensure otherwise.

 

He wishes it could be different, but he'll do a lot to protect this little team – family, he thinks in his most hopeful moments – that they're forming here.

 

“Need a hand with her?” Erik calls, and Charles had known he was there, but hadn't really expected that Erik would say anything.

 

“No,” he says, “I've already told Alex...”

 

But Alex interrupts them by coming out and taking Moira from Charles, carrying her inside. “He's going to take her back home,” Charles explains. “I thought he was the best choice, since he'll have to break into her flat and he can pick locks.”

 

“So can I,” Erik says mildly, “and I don't need those clumsy lock picks.”

 

“But I need to talk to you,” Charles says, his tone just a little sharper. “And I think we should get that over with, don't you?”

 

Erik's jaw tightens and he says nothing, simply nods curtly, and Charles curses inwardly. His father was half-Scottish, his grandmother had a very... inventive vocabulary when her temper was roused, which happened rather often. So his internal monologue does tend to be only about half English when he himself is angry. If Erik was the telepath, rather than Charles, he'd be getting mostly Scots Gaelic on the surface. Which brings to mind...

 

“You're thinking in Polish,” he says when the door to the study closes behind them. Erik shrugs, face as blank as the first night, back on the ship.

 

“Not quite as good as the helmet, but enough to be going on with. I don't think you want to know what I'm thinking at the moment, Charles.”

 

He could know anyway, though. Unfamiliar languages are only a minor stumbling block. It's just that he'd have to push harder, go beyond surface thoughts, and he promised Erik he wouldn't do that.

 

“It's certainly preferable to that damned thing. You're not going to keep it, are you?”

 

“I can't think why I wouldn't. If nothing else, there's Frost – you don't really think the CIA can hold her indefinitely, do you?”

 

“And what about me?” Charles rounds on him, angry for reasons he can't quite put his finger on. Today he was so sure Erik was going to leave them, leave _him_ , and that makes him furious, though he isn't sure why. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be. That's more likely, and he'll have to think about that later. “Do you want to shut me out too, like you're doing now? Like you did when you killed Shaw? I felt it, you know, and I don't know what was worse, feeling the pain as he died or not feeling you afterwards. If you hadn't been standing in front of me I would have thought you were dead too.”

 

Erik stares at him, the blank expression finally giving way to shock. “You felt...? Of course you did,” he says, more to himself than Charles. Then he looks up, and there's pained confusion in his eyes, his mind is whirling and the Polish – with what Charles thinks is Yiddish mixed in – is no longer deliberate, as Erik's accent in his real voice thickens slightly. “Why did you stay in his head then?”

 

“He'd have broken free, and he might well have killed you. I didn't want that.” _Couldn't have faced that_ , Charles thinks but does not say. Not now. Not with the nearly-averted war of two breeds of humanity standing between them.

 

“Charles, I...” And because Erik is still thinking in languages Charles doesn't know, and he won't break his promise now, whatever the temptation, Charles doesn't know what Erik will say before he cuts him off.

 

“No. Shaw, he's not... That's not the point. I didn't think you should have killed him, but it's over. But after that... Erik, those men didn't deserve to die.”

 

“And I didn't kill them. Just like you wanted.” Erik picks up one of the chess pieces, the black king, and toys with it. “I could have, I should have. They'd have done it to us with no remorse.”

 

His smile, when he looks up at Charles, is mirthless, his eyes bleak. “And I'd have been the new Shaw.”

 

“But you're not,” Charles says firmly. “You could have been, that was probably what he wanted out of you from the beginning, but you've foiled him. It's the real victory over him, you know.”

 

“Perhaps,” Erik says. “But I still think he had a point. The humans won't accept us, Charles, they proved that today. And you showed you're not sure they will either, considering what you did to Moira.”

 

Charles frowns. “I want to keep our little team safe, Erik. I want this world to be safe for people like us. I'll do a lot to make that happen.”

 

“But you won't fight them. I've been there, Charles,” Erik says, his voice passionate. Charles thinks incongruously of the old fire and brimstone preachers. “I've seen what happens when those in power decide that a group of outsiders are a threat. And I know what you said, that if I go off and attack the humans I'll be like them, but...”

 

Erik stops, running a hand through his hair. “It might be worth it, Charles. It might be worth becoming the monster in order to stop one.”

 

Charles whirls on him, the horror and frustration clear in his blue eyes. “No, Erik, no it is _not_. I know you believe Shaw already made you a monster, so it doesn't matter, but believe me, that's not true. And becoming as bad as what you fight against is never worth it.”

 

“They're going to turn on us. We have to take the fight to them or we're lost,” Erik insists, and Charles snaps. Does Erik think he's not thought of this? He's a “poor little rich boy” as Raven once called him, he was born to entitlement and privilege. And with his power, he could do... almost anything. Of _course_ he's thought of it.

 

“I've considered this already, Erik, how could I not? I could take over a country with a thought! But don't you see that we're lost either way if it comes to a war?” he says, yelling outright now. “For God's sake, Erik, _they_ have the power, not us! We have special abilities, yes, and in one battle, or two, or a dozen, that would give us the upper hand! But in the end? We do not have the resources, the organization, or the sheer numbers that a country can bring to bear in a fight like this one, and in the end they would win, and we would lose _everything_.”

 

Charles doesn't want a war for other reasons, of course. He believes it's the wrong way to go about gaining mutant rights, believes that they are the better men and should prove it. But he knows that argument won't get through to Erik, so he uses his original rationalization for why they shouldn't turn this into a war. Well, not a war of blood. A war of ideas, maybe, in time.

 

“If we could strike first, put them on the defensive – ” Erik begins, but Charles cuts him off.

 

“No, for God's sake listen to me for a moment, will you? It won't happen that way, Erik. Even if you recruited every mutant in the world you'd never have an army strong enough to take _on_ the world. It just wouldn't work. We have to find another way.”

 

“And what's that? Stay here and hide until they come for us? Listen to _me_ , Charles; I will not wait to be led to the slaughter, Charles, not again.”

 

“I never said that you should. But war is not the answer, my friend,” Charles says, trying to regain calm. Erik raises his eyebrows, skepticism clear in his expression.

 

“Then what, exactly, do you suggest? Show the humans that we're their friends? We've already stopped World War Three for them, they didn't seem that impressed to me. Or are missiles an obscure message of gratitude that I'm unfamiliar with?”

 

Charles slams his hands down on his father's desk – always his father's no matter _who_ uses it, – hard enough to shake everything on it. His fury is clear, blue eyes flashing. “God _damn_ it, will you listen and stop throwing caustic remarks in my face for one minute!”

 

Erik says nothing, for once, simply raising an eyebrow as if to say, _Fine, I'm listening. Do continue._ Charles grits his teeth at the mockery he senses in the gesture, but takes advantage of the silence anyway. “If we start the war, all we do is justify those who would paint us as a threat. I...”

 

He can't say that it will never happen. The feeling of those minds focusing on firing the missiles at them all is still too fresh in Charles' mind for that. “I can't say you're definitely wrong, Erik. I'm a telepath, not a clairvoyant, and I can't see the future. But I do know that all bloodshed will bring is more bloodshed, nothing good can come out of it. Not peace, not even safety since I know you don't believe in peace anyway.”

 

Erik turns away, stalking to one of the windows, looking out at something Charles can't see – because whatever his friend sees, Charles is sure it's not the twilit grounds. “And what if you're wrong?” Erik challenges, looking over his shoulder to meet Charles' eyes. “What if there's no way to stop the fate I think is coming? If I stay, if I do this your way for now, trying for peace, will you stop me from preparing for war? Because if it does happen, I will not be caught unready, Charles. Not again.”

 

Charles knows, with the reddish light of the setting sun slanting into the study, that this is the moment of truth. Not the beach, or before that with the coin, or any number of moments he might have chosen before now. Erik is offering a compromise, of sorts. It's a surprise, coming from him. More than anything, Charles suspects it's a challenge, but still. Erik might be willing to meet him halfway; can Charles really refuse to do the same?

 

“I believe together, we can do far more than we ever could separately, working at cross-purposes,” Charles tells him slowly. “If we work for it, I don't see why living alongside humans should be impossible. But...”

 

Is it so different, really, from deciding he'll do whatever he has to in order to protect his small family here? “If you turn out to be right, we'll still accomplish more on the same side. But just so we're clear, I'm going to do all I can to make sure you _won't_ be.”

 

Erik nods, one quick movement, but it's enough to have a huge weight falling from Charles' shoulders. He still has Erik beside him, for now, and there's plenty of time to work on the issues they still have, now that this reprieve has come. It's more than enough to start with.


End file.
